Chapter XII: “she”

The first care of Job and myself, after seeing to Leo, was to
wash ourselves and put on clean clothing, for what we were
wearing had not been changed since the loss of the dhow.
Fortunately, as I think that I have said, by far the greater part
of our personal baggage had been packed into the whaleboat, and
was therefore saved—and brought hither by the bearers—although
all the stores laid in by us for barter and presents to the
natives were lost. Nearly all our clothing was made of a
well-shrunk and very strong grey flannel, and excellent I found
it for travelling in these places, because though a Norfolk
jacket, shirt, and pair of trousers of it only weighed about four
pounds, a great consideration in a tropical country, where every
extra ounce tells on the wearer, it was warm, and offered a good
resistance to the rays of the sun, and best of all to chills,
which are so apt to result from sudden changes of temperature.

Never shall I forget the comfort of the “wash and brush-up,” and
of those clean flannels. The only thing that was wanting to
complete my joy was a cake of soap, of which we had none.

Afterwards I discovered that the Amahagger, who do not reckon
dirt among their many disagreeable qualities, use a kind of burnt
earth for washing purposes, which, though unpleasant to the touch
till one gets accustomed to it, forms a very fair substitute for
soap.

By the time that I was dressed, and had combed and trimmed my
black beard, the previous condition of which was certainly
sufficiently unkempt to give weight to Billali’s appellation for
me of “Baboon,” I began to feel most uncommonly hungry. Therefore
I was by no means sorry when, without the slightest preparatory
sound or warning, the curtain over the entrance to my cave was
flung aside, and another mute, a young girl this time, announced
to me by signs that I could not misunderstand—that is, by opening
her mouth and pointing down it—that there was something ready to
eat. Accordingly I followed her into the next chamber, which we
had not yet entered, where I found Job, who had also, to his
great embarrassment, been conducted thither by a fair mute. Job
never got over the advances the former lady had made towards him,
and suspected every girl who came near to him of similar designs.

“These young parties have a way of looking at one, sir,” he would
say apologetically, “which I don’t call respectable.”

This chamber was twice the size of the sleeping caves, and I saw
at once that it had originally served as a refectory, and also
probably as an embalming room for the Priests of the Dead; for I
may as well say at once that these hollowed-out caves were
nothing more nor less than vast catacombs, in which for tens of
ages the mortal remains of the great extinct race whose monuments
surrounded us had been first preserved, with an art and a
completeness that has never since been equalled, and then hidden
away for all time. On each side of this particular rock-chamber
was a long and solid stone table, about three feet wide by three
feet six in height, hewn out of the living rock, of which it had
formed part, and was still attached to at the base. These tables
were slightly hollowed out or curved inward, to give room for the
knees of any one sitting on the stone ledge that had been cut for
a bench along the side of the cave at a distance of about two
feet from them. Each of them, also, was so arranged that it ended
right under a shaft pierced in the rock for the admission of
light and air. On examining them carefully, however, I saw that
there was a difference between them that had at first escaped my
attention, viz. that one of the tables, that to the left as we
entered the cave, had evidently been used, not to eat upon, but
for the purposes of embalming. That this was beyond all question
the case was clear from five shallow depressions in the stone of
the table, all shaped like a human form, with a separate place
for the head to lie in, and a little bridge to support the neck,
each depression being of a different size, so as to fit bodies
varying in stature from a full-grown man’s to a small child’s,
and with little holes bored at intervals to carry off fluid. And,
indeed, if any further confirmation was required, we had but to
look at the wall of the cave above to find it. For there,
sculptured all round the apartment, and looking nearly as fresh
as the day it was done, was the pictorial representation of the
death, embalming, and burial of an old man with a long beard,
probably an ancient king or grandee of this country.

The first picture represented his death. He was lying upon a
couch which had four short curved posts at the corners coming to
a knob at the end, in appearance something like written notes of
music, and was evidently in the very act of expiring. Gathered
round the couch were women and children weeping, the former with
their hair hanging down their backs. The next scene represented
the embalmment of the body, which lay stark upon a table with
depressions in it, similar to the one before us; probably,
indeed, it was a picture of the same table. Three men were
employed at the work—one superintending, one holding a funnel
shaped exactly like a port wine strainer, of which the narrow end
was fixed in an incision in the breast, no doubt in the great
pectoral artery; while the third, who was depicted as standing
straddle-legged over the corpse, held a kind of large jug high in
his hand, and poured from it some steaming fluid which fell
accurately into the funnel. The most curious part of this
sculpture is that both the man with the funnel and the man who
pours the fluid are drawn holding their noses, either I suppose
because of the stench arising from the body, or more probably to
keep out the aromatic fumes of the hot fluid which was being
forced into the dead man’s veins. Another curious thing which I
am unable to explain is that all three men were represented as
having a band of linen tied round the face with holes in it for
the eyes.

The third sculpture was a picture of the burial of the deceased.
There he was, stiff and cold, clothed in a linen robe, and laid
out on a stone slab such as I had slept upon at our first
sojourning-place. At his head and feet burnt lamps, and by his
side were placed several of the beautiful painted vases that I
have described, which were perhaps supposed to be full of
provisions. The little chamber was crowded with mourners, and
with musicians playing on an instrument resembling a lyre, while
near the foot of the corpse stood a man holding a sheet, with
which he was preparing to cover it from view.

These sculptures, looked at merely as works of art, were so
remarkable that I make no apology for describing them rather
fully. They struck me also as being of surpassing interest as
representing, probably with studious accuracy, the last rites of
the dead as practised among an utterly lost people, and even then
I thought how envious some antiquarian friends of my own at
Cambridge would be if ever I found an opportunity of describing
these wonderful remains to them. Probably they would say that I
was exaggerating, notwithstanding that every page of this history
must bear so much internal evidence of its truth that it would
obviously have been quite impossible for me to have invented it.

To return. As soon as I had hastily examined these sculptures,
which I think I omitted to mention were executed in relief, we
sat down to a very excellent meal of boiled goat’s-flesh, fresh
milk, and cakes made of meal, the whole being served upon clean
wooden platters.

When we had eaten we returned to see how Leo was getting on,
Billali saying that he must now wait upon _She_, and hear her
commands. On reaching Leo’s room we found the poor boy in a very
bad way. He had woke up from his torpor, and was altogether off
his head, babbling about some boat-race on the Cam, and was
inclined to be violent. Indeed, when we entered the room Ustane
was holding him down. I spoke to him, and my voice seemed to
soothe him; at any rate he grew much quieter, and was persuaded
to swallow a dose of quinine.

I had been sitting with him for an hour, perhaps—at any rate I
know that it was getting so dark that I could only just make out
his head lying like a gleam of gold upon the pillow we had
extemporised out of a bag covered with a blanket—when suddenly
Billali arrived with an air of great importance, and informed me
that _She_ herself had deigned to express a wish to see me—an
honour, he added, accorded to but very few. I think that he was a
little horrified at my cool way of taking the honour, but the
fact was that I did not feel overwhelmed with gratitude at the
prospect of seeing some savage, dusky queen, however absolute and
mysterious she might be, more especially as my mind was full of
dear Leo, for whose life I began to have great fears. However, I
rose to follow him, and as I did so I caught sight of something
bright lying on the floor, which I picked up. Perhaps the reader
will remember that with the potsherd in the casket was a
composition scarabæus marked with a round O, a goose, and another
curious hieroglyphic, the meaning of which is “Suten se Ra,” or
“Royal Son of the Sun.” The scarab, which is a very small one,
Leo had insisted upon having set in a massive gold ring, such as
is generally used for signets, and it was this very ring that I
now picked up. He had pulled it off in the paroxysm of his fever,
at least I suppose so, and flung it down upon the rock-floor.
Thinking that if I left it about it might get lost, I slipped it
on my own little finger, and then followed Billali, leaving Job
and Ustane with Leo.

We passed down the passage, crossed the great aisle-like cave,
and came to the corresponding passage on the other side, at the
mouth of which the guards stood like two statues. As we came they
bowed their heads in salutation, and then lifting their long
spears placed them transversely across their foreheads, as the
leaders of the troop that had met us had done with their ivory
wands. We stepped between them, and found ourselves in an exactly
similar gallery to that which led to our own apartments, only
this passage was, comparatively speaking, brilliantly lighted. A
few paces down it we were met by four mutes—two men and two
women—who bowed low and then arranged themselves, the women in
front and the men behind of us, and in this order we continued
our procession past several doorways hung with curtains
resembling those leading to our own quarters, and which I
afterwards found opened out into chambers occupied by the mutes
who attended on _She_. A few paces more and we came to another
doorway facing us, and not to our left like the others, which
seemed to mark the termination of the passage. Here two more
white-, or rather yellow-robed guards were standing, and they too
bowed, saluted, and let us pass through heavy curtains into a
great antechamber, quite forty feet long by as many wide, in
which some eight or ten women, most of them young and handsome,
with yellowish hair, sat on cushions working with ivory needles
at what had the appearance of being embroidery frames. These
women were also deaf and dumb. At the farther end of this great
lamp-lit apartment was another doorway closed in with heavy
Oriental-looking curtains, quite unlike those that hung before
the doors of our own rooms, and here stood two particularly
handsome girl mutes, their heads bowed upon their bosoms and
their hands crossed in an attitude of humble submission. As we
advanced they each stretched out an arm and drew back the
curtains. Thereupon Billali did a curious thing. Down he went,
that venerable-looking old gentleman—for Billali is a gentleman
at the bottom—down on to his hands and knees, and in this
undignified position, with his long white beard trailing on the
ground, he began to creep into the apartment beyond. I followed
him, standing on my feet in the usual fashion. Looking over his
shoulder he perceived it.

“Down, my son; down, my Baboon; down on to thy hands and knees.
We enter the presence of _She_, and, if thou art not humble, of a
surety she will blast thee where thou standest.”

I halted, and felt scared. Indeed, my knees began to give way of
their own mere motion; but reflection came to my aid. I was an
Englishman, and why, I asked myself, should I creep into the
presence of some savage woman as though I were a monkey in fact
as well as in name? I would not and could not do it, that is,
unless I was absolutely sure that my life or comfort depended
upon it. If once I began to creep upon my knees I should always
have to do so, and it would be a patent acknowledgment of
inferiority. So, fortified by an insular prejudice against
“kootooing,” which has, like most of our so-called prejudices, a
good deal of common sense to recommend it, I marched in boldly
after Billali. I found myself in another apartment, considerably
smaller than the anteroom, of which the walls were entirely hung
with rich-looking curtains of the same make as those over the
door, the work, as I subsequently discovered, of the mutes who
sat in the antechamber and wove them in strips, which were
afterwards sewn together. Also, here and there about the room,
were settees of a beautiful black wood of the ebony tribe, inlaid
with ivory, and all over the floor were other tapestries, or
rather rugs. At the top end of this apartment was what appeared
to be a recess, also draped with curtains, through which shone
rays of light. There was nobody in the place except ourselves.

Painfully and slowly old Billali crept up the length of the cave,
and with the most dignified stride that I could command I
followed after him. But I felt that it was more or less of a
failure. To begin with, it is not possible to look dignified when
you are following in the wake of an old man writhing along on his
stomach like a snake, and then, in order to go sufficiently
slowly, either I had to keep my leg some seconds in the air at
every step, or else to advance with a full stop between each
stride, like Mary Queen of Scots going to execution in a play.
Billali was not good at crawling, I suppose his years stood in
the way, and our progress up that apartment was a very long
affair. I was immediately behind him, and several times I was
sorely tempted to help him on with a good kick. It is so absurd
to advance into the presence of savage royalty after the fashion
of an Irishman driving a pig to market, for that is what we
looked like, and the idea nearly made me burst out laughing then
and there. I had to work off my dangerous tendency to unseemly
merriment by blowing my nose, a proceeding which filled old
Billali with horror, for he looked over his shoulder and made a
ghastly face at me, and I heard him murmur, “Oh, my poor Baboon!”

At last we reached the curtains, and here Billali collapsed flat
on to his stomach, with his hands stretched out before him as
though he were dead, and I, not knowing what to do, began to
stare about the place. But presently I clearly felt that somebody
was looking at me from behind the curtains. I could not see the
person, but I could distinctly feel his or her gaze, and, what is
more, it produced a very odd effect upon my nerves. I was
frightened, I do not know why. The place was a strange one, it is
true, and looked lonely, notwithstanding its rich hangings and
the soft glow of the lamps—indeed, these accessories added to,
rather than detracted from its loneliness, just as a lighted
street at night has always a more solitary appearance than a dark
one. It was so silent in the place, and there lay Billali like
one dead before the heavy curtains, through which the odour of
perfume seemed to float up towards the gloom of the arched roof
above. Minute grew into minute, and still there was no sign of
life, nor did the curtain move; but I felt the gaze of the
unknown being sinking through and through me, and filling me with
a nameless terror, till the perspiration stood in beads upon my
brow.

At length the curtain began to move. Who could be behind it?—some
naked savage queen, a languishing Oriental beauty, or a
nineteenth-century young lady, drinking afternoon tea? I had not
the slightest idea, and should not have been astonished at seeing
any of the three. I was getting beyond astonishment. The curtain
agitated itself a little, then suddenly between its folds there
appeared a most beautiful white hand (white as snow), and with
long tapering fingers, ending in the pinkest nails. The hand
grasped the curtain, and drew it aside, and as it did so I heard
a voice, I think the softest and yet most silvery voice I ever
heard. It reminded me of the murmur of a brook.

“Stranger,” said the voice in Arabic, but much purer and more
classical Arabic than the Amahagger talk—“stranger, wherefore art
thou so much afraid?”

Now I flattered myself that in spite of my inward terrors I had
kept a very fair command of my countenance, and was, therefore, a
little astonished at this question. Before I had made up my mind
how to answer it, however, the curtain was drawn, and a tall
figure stood before us. I say a figure, for not only the body,
but also the face was wrapped up in soft white, gauzy material in
such a way as at first sight to remind me most forcibly of a
corpse in its grave-clothes. And yet I do not know why it should
have given me that idea, seeing that the wrappings were so thin
that one could distinctly see the gleam of the pink flesh beneath
them. I suppose it was owing to the way in which they were
arranged, either accidentally, or more probably by design.
Anyhow, I felt more frightened than ever at this ghost-like
apparition, and my hair began to rise upon my head as the feeling
crept over me that I was in the presence of something that was
not canny. I could, however, clearly distinguish that the swathed
mummy-like form before me was that of a tall and lovely woman,
instinct with beauty in every part, and also with a certain
snake-like grace which I had never seen anything to equal before.
When she moved a hand or foot her entire frame seemed to
undulate, and the neck did not bend, it curved.

“Why art thou so frightened, stranger?” asked the sweet voice
again—a voice which seemed to draw the heart out of me, like the
strains of softest music. “Is there that about me that should
affright a man? Then surely are men changed from what they used
to be!” And with a little coquettish movement she turned herself,
and held up one arm, so as to show all her loveliness and the
rich hair of raven blackness that streamed in soft ripples down
her snowy robes, almost to her sandalled feet.

“It is thy beauty that makes me fear, oh Queen,” I answered
humbly, scarcely knowing what to say, and I thought that as I did
so I heard old Billali, who was still lying prostrate on the
floor, mutter, “Good, my Baboon, good.”

“I see that men still know how to beguile us women with false
words. Ah, stranger,” she answered, with a laugh that sounded
like distant silver bells, “thou wast afraid because mine eyes
were searching out thine heart, therefore wast thou afraid. Yet
being but a woman, I forgive thee for the lie, for it was
courteously said. And now tell me how came ye hither to this land
of the dwellers among the caves—a land of swamps and evil things
and dead old shadows of the dead? What came ye for to see? How is
it that ye hold your lives so cheap as to place them in the
hollow of the hand of _Hiya_, into the hand of
‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’? Tell me also how come ye to know the
tongue I talk. It is an ancient tongue, that sweet child of the
old Syriac. Liveth it yet in the world? Thou seest I dwell among
the caves and the dead, and naught know I of the affairs of men,
nor have I cared to know. I have lived, O stranger, with my
memories, and my memories are in a grave that mine hands
hollowed, for truly hath it been said that the child of man
maketh his own path evil;” and her beautiful voice quivered, and
broke in a note as soft as any wood-bird’s. Suddenly her eye fell
upon the sprawling frame of Billali, and she seemed to recollect
herself.

“Ah! thou art there, old man. Tell me how it is that things have
gone wrong in thine household. Forsooth, it seems that these my
guests were set upon. Ay, and one was nigh to being slain by the
hot-pot to be eaten of those brutes, thy children, and had not
the others fought gallantly they too had been slain, and not even
I could have called back the life which had been loosed from the
body. What means it, old man? What hast thou to say that I should
not give thee over to those who execute my vengeance?”

Her voice had risen in her anger, and it rang clear and cold
against the rocky walls. Also I thought I could see her eyes
flash through the gauze that hid them. I saw poor Billali, whom I
had believed to be a very fearless person, positively quiver with
terror at her words.

“Oh ‘Hiya!’ oh _She_!” he said, without lifting his white head
from the floor. “Oh _She_, as thou art great be merciful, for I
am now as ever thy servant to obey. It was no plan or fault of
mine, oh _She_, it was those wicked ones who are called my
children. Led on by a woman whom thy guest the Pig had scorned,
they would have followed the ancient custom of the land, and
eaten the fat black stranger who came hither with these thy
guests the Baboon and the Lion who is sick, thinking that no word
had come from thee about the Black one. But when the Baboon and
the Lion saw what they would do, they slew the woman, and slew
also their servant to save him from the horror of the pot. Then
those evil ones, ay, those children of the Wicked One who lives
in the Pit, they went mad with the lust of blood, and flew at the
throats of the Lion and the Baboon and the Pig. But gallantly
they fought. Oh _Hiya_! they fought like very men, and slew many,
and held their own, and then I came and saved them, and the
evildoers have I sent on hither to Kôr to be judged of thy
greatness, oh _She_! and here they are.”

“Ay, old man, I know it, and to-morrow will I sit in the great
hall and do justice upon them, fear not. And for thee, I forgive
thee, though hardly. See that thou dost keep thine household
better. Go.”

Billali rose upon his knees with astonishing alacrity, bowed his
head thrice, and his white beard sweeping the ground, crawled
down the apartment as he had crawled up it, till he finally
vanished through the curtains, leaving me, not a little to my
alarm, alone with this terrible but most fascinating person.